


june snow

by snsk



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M, OT5, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5328323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years into One Direction's extended break, Louis Tomlinson, part-time songwriter, full-time exhausted single dad, gets an invitation in the mail to a bandmate's wedding.</p><p>In the mail, for god's sake.</p><p>Had Niall never heard of <em>texting?</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so! this was unfinished in my drafts so i thought i'd clean it up and finish it. i'm gonna try to post a chapter every two days so yell at me if i don't
> 
> this is also for eraj

There are many things you would like to forget.

For example.

A lovely, slow, winding melody, and his curls, due for a cut, drooping over one eye as he hums it through. His voice is rough through two days straight of rehearsals; you're both a shade of tired that'll keep you both hyper awake for hours still, maybe even make it to the first violent rays of dawn. He still sounds gorgeous, scraped and low. His voice is your favourite sound.

"This," he tells you, "will be the first dance at my wedding."

It's still way too early to say _our,_ but you read it, in the pause after the _at._ You make a thoughtful noise, and turn the screen of his iPod over to you so you can look.

"I'd better get started on memorising the lyrics, then," you say, just flippant enough for it not to _have_ to matter. But he presses against you closer. He bites down on a small smile, fails.

There are many things you would like to forget. This doesn't even make the top quarter of the list: that soul-deep, dripping twist of the beat, all the words to the song he's singing.

But what can you do? Like it or not - you remember it all.

***

For a five year old, Jem was terribly talkative.

("So were you when you were that age," Mum had said, amused, when they'd visited a few weeks earlier. "Never shut up. I had big dreams for you in politics."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't have that kind of vocabulary," Louis had countered, and they'd watched Jem tell Ernest off for being too rambunctious. _Rambunctious,_ for god's sake. "I was too busy getting into trouble in the garden to learn huge words like this. By the time he's seven I'll be consulting dictionaries to keep up."

"Be proud," Louis' mum had said, still grinning that self-satisfied, extremely-happy-with-herself-and-life _grandparent_ grin, and Louis had given up.)

"The postman just delivered some mail," he told Louis now, skittering into the kitchen and tugging at Louis' hand. "Let's go take it, c'mon Dad, let's go and see."

"What're you so excited about?" Louis asked. "It's probably bills. We get way too many bills than we need, did you know that?"

Jem sighed like he was eighty. "Bills mostly come on Tuesdays," and really, how had his five year old noticed something he hadn't in nearly thirty years, "it's Monday. Also there was fancy pink colouring. Let's go and see, let's go and see."

He dragged Louis all the way out their back door, to the letterbox. Louis was still carrying the butter knife he'd been using for some good old fashioned 3 pm toast. "Look!"

In gold, curling script, the envelope read:

_Mr Louis Tomlinson_  
_&_  
_Mr Jeremy Tomlinson_

Jem was delighted. "That's my name!" he informed Louis. "In fancy writing and everything. It's so elaborate." He pronounced the last word correctly and carefully, grinned smugly at Louis, so much like his grandmother. "Open it, Dad. Oh. You dropped the knife!"

Louis had, indeed, dropped the knife onto the grass of his front lawn. Because the only people who knew exactly where they lived - after Louis had moved himself and his six month year old son in, sought legal action to impose a media ban, and pleaded with the rest of the world for privacy - were family and close friends. And this was clearly a wedding invitation, and so Louis' heart stopped, for a moment - for a possibility - and he dropped the butter knife. 

The rest of the envelope was torn open.

_You are cordially invited_  
_to the wedding of_  
_Niall James Horan_  
_&_  
_Lucy Reina Dolan,_  
_on the 16th of June_

"What the fuck," Louis said, his face splitting into a grin.

"Dad, you swore," Jem said reproachfully.

"I did, I did," Louis agreed, steering his son back to the house by his shoulders. "Which is what we have the swear jar for. I need to talk to Uncle Niall."

Jem brightened considerably. Uncle Niall was, to him, the fun one who came to his fourth birthday and got him a real-looking crossbow and all muddy sliding down the hill at Gramma's on trays. "Is he coming?"

"I think we might be going to him. Hold on now. Niall," he added to Siri.

"Tommo," Niall answered, like the beginning of a laugh.

"You _fucker,"_ Louis said, "I leave you for six months-"

"Was it a nice sur _prise-"_

"In the _mail!"_

"I woulda given up my Benz to've seen your face," Niall said, outright giggling now. "I wanted to call you so bad, but imagining your _face-"_

"Yeah, yeah, you can ask Jem all about it, he probably thought I was going into shock." Louis shakes his head. "So this is happening, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck. Three weeks, too. You look away for one second."

"I know you haven't met Reina officially yet," Niall said. Louis had facetimed with her once, months ago, on his birthday, when she and Niall had just started dating; she'd been brunette and small and slightly gap-toothed, and Louis had liked her, he just hadn't thought of her as particularly memorable, not Niall's usual leggy blonde type, definitely not someone he'd marry, six months on. But Louis, out of anyone, would know what life threw at you was definitely not what you'd ever expect, not in a million years. "And I'm inviting you to come up a week early, you and all the boys. Get the rehearsal dinner etc all straightened out, get to know Reina, stag night, Tommo, stag night... Bring Jem over, my mum's been asking after him..."

"You sold me on wedding," Louis told him, and Niall whooped. "Are they all-"

"Yeah, all of us," Niall said. His voice had a careful thread in it - a thread Louis recognised from half a decade of _y'okay? Alright then_ s. "Even Zayn from fuck knows where, Hawaii. Had to call _him_ up, who can tell where that bastard's gonna be. Yeah, all of us. That alright?"

"Yeah," said Louis, "'course."

Of course. "I'll text you the details," Niall told him, and Louis said "Yeah, yeah, sure," and then proffered one more _fuck_ for the general marriage business of it, and, "it isn't a shotgun marriage, is it, Ni?"

Niall laughed. "I know it's pretty quick, relatively," he said, "but I love her, so I'm locking it down."

It was the way he said it, too; easy, natural to him as breathing: Niall Horan, for fuck's sake, only a couple of years ago wild stallion bachelor extraordinaire. 

Louis hung up, then turned around to see Jem holding up the swear jar. Louis dug around for a couple of ones. Satisfied, Jem asked: "Is Uncle Niall coming?"

Louis ruffled his hair.

"Oh, nah," Louis said, "we're going to him, apparently."


	2. Chapter 2

When Louis and Jem had first moved into the neighbourhood - a fine place for families, both two-parent and single, Zoopla proclaimed, but what had sold it for Louis had been a photo of lovely tall cork oaks curving over a street, an offer of safety and protection - it had been after six months of staying at his mum's, six months of sleepless nights and jaundice scares and learning how to be a father. 

"You can stay," his mum had told him, when she'd caught him browsing real estate websites five months into Jem's existence. "For as long as you need."

And Louis had wanted to, but there was a difference between being a parent and letting your mum talk you through every little step. He'd inherited that stubborn independent streak from her, after all. "I'll be fine," he told her. "I have you on speed dial."

His mum had smiled, a bit sadly, and passed a hand over his head. And so Louis had packed their bags and struggled the stroller into the car and moved to the outskirts of London with a six month old baby.

Louis had never begrudged Briana for not sticking around. She hadn't even wanted to go through with the pregnancy; she'd said, _think about it, Louis,_ and, _is this the best time?_ and Louis had been inclined to agree, as had all the PR and management people around him, but he'd remembered his mum, young and alone and making a choice for him, making that decision to choose him. So he'd said, _please have the baby,_ and she'd looked at him and sighed, but she'd said yes.

Louis had never begrudged Briana for not sticking around, but two weeks into the new neighbourhood, with Jem fitfully, unendingly crying at 2 am, milk nor music and nothing in books and on the Internet helping, and his mum so, so far away, he _had_ felt the urge to swear at her for simply not being here, and this he'd done, loudly and at length. And then he'd sat down and dialled her number.

"I think I'm screwing up our kid," he'd said.

"Probably," she'd allowed, and then she realised he wasn't laughing. "Oh, Louis."

"I don't want you to come over. I just - tell me I'm not fucking it up too much."

"I wouldn't know," Briana had said, because she'd always been honest with him, and she always would be, "I'm not there. But Louis, you're trying. That has to count for something."

Louis had bit his lip. "Yeah," he'd said, and then tried to remember that as Jem started fretfully wailing again.

***

Louis had no idea why it was this particular memory that was replaying itself in his head as the plane started its loud whirring ascent into the sky, taking him and Jem to Dublin, where Reina and Niall both hailed from and the wedding was to be held. Jem bounced in his seat excitedly. The last flight he'd been on was a year ago, a Scotland holiday - Louis flew to LA sometimes, but didn't like bringing him along on business.

"My ears are blocked," he told Louis. "I read about it online. It's because of the air pressure. It messes with our al - altitude."

"Really?" Louis said, grinning over at him. "I always thought it was bits of cloud stuffing themselves in our ears."

"That's silly, Dad," Jem said.

"That's hurtful, Jem," Louis informed him. "You excited to see Uncle Ni?"

"Yeah!" Jem bounced a bit more at this. He frowned down at his seatbelt because of the restriction of said bouncing. "And Uncle Liam and Uncle Zayn and Uncle Harry. I never get to see them."

"Well, they're all busy," Louis said. "You know that. You won't forget to thank them for your presents, will you?"

Every year they sent gifts, for Jem's birthday and Christmas; Niall something typically sporty and dangerous, Zayn something lovely and artistic, usually something he'd done himself, Liam, who visited the most often, something Jem was into at the moment: a Jessica Jones t-shirt. A book on lions. A ps5.

Harry sent Jem a boomerang from Australia, a stuffed monkey with a strange nose from Indonesia. He sent Jem a small wooden guitar-like object from Italy, essentially his first musical instrument. Louis had been quiet for so long, looking at it, that Jem had asked what was wrong. 

_Do you like it?_ Louis had asked.

 _It's so_ pretty, Jem had said. _I love it._

Harry had spent most of the break on other continents. Zayn travelled a lot too, but not the way Harry did; Zayn travelled with his family, Zayn travelled for holidays. 

It feels, Liam had reflected once, two years ago, like Harry's looking for a new place to live.

***

This was the part Louis tried to forget from that night, almost five years ago: he'd said goodbye to Briana, and called someone else who'd always been good with kids. Or - that had been how he'd justified it to himself.

"Hello?" Harry had said, voice sleep-rough. Louis wondered where he was; Cheshire, or the London house he'd never really bothered to make a home.

"What do you do when a baby won't stop crying?" Louis asked, and then realised that Harry was the one who'd had no younger siblings, and that he should not have called, and that-

"Milk," Harry said. "Sing to him? Let him cry it out. Or check if it's colic."

"I did," Louis said, almost on the verge of a sob. "He hates me, probably. He wants his mum."

"Louis," Harry said, "do you want me to come over?" 

He was in London, then. And it would be so easy. So, so easy. To say yes. To accept this offer of help and whatever came with it, everything that came with it. To let Harry into his house.

If Louis said yes, he'd probably never let Harry leave.

"No," Louis told him, his voice thick, five years of memories clogging it up. "No, I don't want you to come over."

"Okay," Harry said, "okay."

Louis breathed through it. Harry was silent on the other end of the line.

"I'm going to go," Louis said, "check on Jem."

"Okay," Harry repeated. 

"Yeah."

A week later, Harry flew to Myanmar, the first stop of a four-year traveling itch.


	3. Chapter 3

Niall greeted them at the airport in typical Niall fashion: boisterous, loud, swinging Jem into the sky and almost tumbling down together with him when he realised how much Jem had grown.

"Oof," Niall said, "oof, oof, oof." They both staggered backwards a couple of steps, Jem still breathless with high, excited laughter. "Listen, little man, you coulda warned me." He held out his hand for a high five. "How've you been?"

"Adequate," said Jem, who didn't quite know how to use the word, or was perhaps shading Louis' less than satisfactory parenting. "I'm up to the hard division and Dad told me how to close my nose and unblock my ears. Thanks for the Christmas present, Uncle Niall." It had been one of those alarmingly twisty skateboards.

"No problem," said Niall. "Text me what you want for your birthday next. Your dad doesn't needa know. Tommo!"

"Hey-!" Louis said, and that was as far as he got before he was engulfed in a hug. "Oh, man, missed you too." He was reasonably sure that if Niall could've swung Louis around too his feet would not be on safe ground right about now.

"You look like hell," Niall informed him, letting him go.

"Don't I know it," said Louis, running a hand through his hair. "There were certain people who kept me up most of the flight, bouncing around." Jem grinned at this. "He'll probably be out like a light in the car. Where's Reina, anyway?"

"Bringing said car around," Niall said. "You haven't met Reina, have you, little man?"

"No," Jem said, "she's the lady you're going to marry, right?"

"Quite right," Niall agreed. "You'll see her in a bit. Liam's at the house already, and then we're all going to pick Zayn up later. Harry's flight's tomorrow." He ushered them towards the sliding doors. 

Outside, it was a lovely sunny late evening, and Niall gestured to where a silver Mitsubishi sat idling for them. "Go on, then," Louis said to Jem, who ran forwards and scrambled into the backseat. They could hear a: "Hello! I'm Jem."

"Does she know all about your wild past, Horan?" Louis asked, amused.

"Mostly," Niall said, affectionately cuffing Louis around the head. He slid his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and opened the door. "Don't let your huge gob yak away, though." 

"I'll try my best," Louis assured him, grinning, sliding in next to Jem.

Reina had a headband on over wild curls and was wearing a floral patterned sundress, and she was tiny and smiling at Louis and telling Jem, "Oh, love, just Reina's fine."

"Okay," Jem said, testing it out, "Reina. That's a nice name, what does it mean?"

"Good-tempered," Reina said, "although, unfortunately, that isn't me at all. Hi, Louis!"

"Hi, Reina," Louis said. "You're very pretty."

"That's exactly what your son said," Reina informed him. "You're both extremely good at flattery."

"Flattery!" said Jem. "That means excessive and insincere praise." He frowned. "But I meant it."

"I think," Niall said, "I have competition."

"Buck up," Reina told him, and Louis laughed.

 

Dublin was sweeping and green and grey and majestic, as it always seemed to be, and Liam met them at the door of the house, along with Niall's parents. "Louis," Liam said, grinning all over his face; he was back to the shaved head, Louis supposed, to commiserate his newly-dead relationship with Terri. Personally, Louis hadn't expected someone who introduced herself as Ter _ri, with an i,_ and petted Jem's head like he was a puppy, to stick around, but he'd learned to keep thoughts about Liam's love life to himself. Apart from the obligatory remarks he _had_ to make, of course, being him. Liam mostly ignored these.

"Liam, Liam, Liam," Louis said, pulling him in; there'd be time to talk later, but now Louis greeted Niall's parents, shook hands with a few of Niall's cousins, and Liam swung Jem onto his shoulders to go see Theo and the other kids out back. Reina showed him his and Jem's room, sheets all freshly-laundered and with a view of the back garden, and Louis told her, abrupt: "You know, I don't really know all that much about you."

She looked from the windows to him. "Is this the shovel talk?"

"He's my brother," Louis said, shrugging. "It's only the shovel talk if you're planning on messing him up."

"You'll get to know me just fine," she said. "I plan on sticking around."

"He's infatuated," said Louis, "he must be. I've never seen him this serious before. So, just - you know. Don't be a dick. Is all."

At _infatuated,_ her face softened. In the evening light, she looked lovely, angles and piercing eyes illuminated by the setting sun.

"Alright, Louis," she said. "Deal."

She stuck out a hand. Louis shook on it.

 

After a frankly delicious dinner - either that or Louis was still ridiculously hungry from the meagre rations they seemed to enjoy dishing out on flights - Niall got the car out. 

"I'll be back in a coupla hours," Louis said, "be good, kiddo." Jem looked at him in a way that said, _really?_ which honestly, Louis had to agree with; his son had always been extraordinarily mature for his age, probably a developed defense against his muddled, push-through-it parenting. "Love you," he added, and kissed the top of Jem's head.

"Love you," said Jem, and scampered away to rejoin Niall's younger relatives.

"I," Louis announced, getting into the car, "am feeling a strange sense of excitement."

"Right?" Liam said. "When was the last time we were all together like this, fuck."

"With Zayn, too," Niall said, "ages, man. I'm thinking, when he gets in the car, WMYB blasting on the stereo."

"Um, _brilliant_ ," Louis decided, and that was exactly how Zayn, led by Liam, each laden with a bag, found them: loudly and ecstatically singing the bridge, complete with clapping.

"Oh jesus fuck," said Zayn, getting into the back seat.

"Is your Grammy-nominated ass too good for _na na na_ s now, Malik?" Louis asked, but all the bitterness that might have been in the question had been scraped away years ago. Zayn knew this, and he pulled Louis into a headlock, and ruffled his hair, which made Louis yelp and threaten to bodily harm _his_ hair in turn, which apparently still counted as enough of a threat to Zayn that he let Louis go, laughing. Some parts of people never changed.

 

They ended up in - of course - a pub, everyone clutching beers except designated driver Niall. Story-swapping time started, and it was all warm and cozy and light-hearted bickering. Louis had _missed_ this. Had missed these people.

Two beers in, though, and there was barely a rift there, a slight fissure; more of a missing puzzle piece really, a space in between Niall and Liam where someone should have been sitting.

"Harry's taking a taxi from the airport early tomorrow," Niall said eventually. 

"At least we won't have to be forced awake early," Zayn said. "Where's he from? Last I heard he was in the Himalayas."

"Berlin," Niall confirmed. 

"S'nice for him," Louis said, neutral.

There was a pause, in which Louis realised there were five people in this world he couldn't fool quite that easily, and three of them were sitting at this table.

"Do you not talk to him at all anymore?" Liam said, hesitantly.

"No," Louis said.

He looked up his Instagram sometimes, his twitter; he was scarcely on social media now and when he was it was as cryptic as always. Pictures of clouds, a mountain, his shoes on a dirty street.

"No," Louis repeated. "But we didn't have a fight or anything, we just. You know. Lost touch. It happens. He still sends the odd Christmas present."

 _Lost_ being the operative word here.

***

This wasn't one particular memory, but a jumble of interviews over the years, mashed up together, and in his head, they all went like this: 

Q: And out of all of you, who are the closest?

A: We're all really close, we're like brothers, but me and Harry get along really well.

Q: Best friends, then.

A: Yeah! Can't get rid of him, I'll be honest.

Q: That's lovely. That's really sweet.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis was woken up the next morning by Jem shaking him awake, little fingers around Louis' shoulder and vibrating like a mini earthquake. "Dad," he was saying, insistent. "Dad. Dad!"

"Yes. Yes. I'm up," Louis said blearily. "Oh, god, ow." Jem had drawn the curtains open; sunlight slanted through the windows directly into his eyeballs. "What's wrong?"

"Uncle _Harry_ 's here," Jem announced excitedly, bounding off the bed.

"Oh," Louis returned, struggling with this and wakefulness.

"Uncle Harry, he says you can come in!" Jem called into the hallway.

"Wait - _Jem_ ," Louis attempted, but it was too late - Harry Styles stuck his head in, hair shorter than the last time Louis had seen him, wearing a sheepish smile, dimple still intact. It appeared you didn't outgrow things like that.

"Hi," he said, by way of greeting. "Jem said you were up. Are you up?"

"I am _now_ ," Louis said.

"Jem," Harry said.

"You had no place to go!" Jem said defensively. "He had no place to go," he explained to Louis.

"I had no place to go," Harry confirmed, grinning at Jem. "Everyone's asleep. Zayn let me in, but I think that was only because his room's closest to the front door and he couldn't take my knocking. Also, he might have been sleepwalking. He went right back to bed and shut his door in my face. Without a word."

"Sounds like Zayn," Louis agreed.

"It turned out Jem was also awoken by my insistent knocking. Luckily for me."

"Insistent," repeated Jem cheerily. "I learned that one last week! I know what it means. Also you promised you'd tell me all about the mountains," he reminded Harry. "Uncle Li said you were in the Hilamayas. Hilmamayas."

"Himalayas, tricky name, isn't it, and I will," Harry said. "As soon as I figure out where to put my stuff."

They both turned to Louis expectantly. As if _he_ knew.

"You can dump it here first," Louis said, "until Niall wakes up."

"Brilliant," said Harry. He stepped into the room, and Louis could see he was carrying a backpack and dragging along a suitcase. Louis, though he was wearing a faded old t-shirt and his boxers, suddenly felt rather too exposed. He dragged his blankets inconspicuously up to his chin, rubbed at his day-old scruff.

Harry deposited his bags near the dresser, then turned and just - well, stood. Looking around, though his eyes flickered to Louis now and again. Louis saw the way he was standing, feet both turned slightly inwards, the way he had when he wasn't entirely sure what to do. Louis didn't know how to deal with the fact that he still remembered that particular piece of information. He settled for being quiet as well, because it wasn't like _he_ had any particular gems of small talk at ass o'clock in the morning to an ex who he hadn't seen for more than three years and had just arrived in his bedroom without warning, and said ex could bloody well break the silence himself if he wanted to. And then Jem made an impatient noise, and asked: "Can you make pancakes?"

"I can make pancakes," Harry said, sounding a bit relieved.

"Good, I'm hungry," said Jem. "I'll show you where the kitchen is. You can tell me about Bali too!" He scampered from the room.

"He is a _lot_ like you," Harry said.

"In a good or bad way?"

"Oh, a good way," Harry told him instantly. "He's great. I know that and I've only just met him properly. I remember the last time I saw him he was learning to walk."

"He is great," Louis said. "Despite all my best efforts to clumsily fuck up his early development."

"You weren't that bad," Harry said, sure, even though he hadn't even - he hadn't even been there.

"Thanks, I guess," Louis said. 

There was a sound somewhere down the hallway, very similar to someone impatiently banging a few pots and pans around to remind certain people of their promises of breakfast.

"He is a lot like me," Louis allowed.

"I'm gonna," said Harry, smiling. He paused. "It's great to see you again, Louis," he said, and the way his voice sounded, the cadence - he meant it, Louis knew how to tell, and hated that he knew, and didn't hate it at the same time. "We'll - we'll talk later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis said. "Yeah, okay."

***

The last time he'd seen Harry, he'd brought Jem along with him to LA. Jem had cried at the air pressure and turbulence for one third of the flight, slept through another third, and demanded entertainment through the last couple of hours. Louis had reconsidered his decision to not be separated from his baby son for a week many, many times. His mother had _offered_ to babysit, for fuck's sake. What had Louis been _thinking._

He dumped their bags in the hotel room and rushed into the meeting he'd optimistically scheduled for two hours after the flight - scheduled without bearing in mind wayward LA traffic being what it was. A secretary waved him in. George, smiling and going a bit grey-haired at the temples, strode forward and immediately started telling Jem what a lovely child he was; and behind him, silhouetted against the glass windows, Harry stood: pigeon-footed, awkward.

Louis hadn't spoken to him since that phone call, months ago, a year, maybe. 

"Louis, look who was in town," George said happily. "Surprise!"

George had always been their favourite of all the people who'd sat around in meeting rooms to manage them and discuss their futures while they stood outside, peering in, awaiting the decisions; George had asked their opinions, briefed them on the bigger picture, tried to help when he could. George ran a lot of the things with 78 Productions, set up stuff for Louis with other artists from time to time. Louis trusted him, liked him, and right then fervently wished that he hadn't tried to make this a joyful fucking reunion.

"George, this is Jem," Louis said. "Jeremy Isaac Tomlinson. Jem, George. Say hi."

"Hi," Jem said, thumb in his mouth, having been set down on the floor. He tottered awkwardly forward to shake hands. George beamed and cooed at the same time. 

"Harry, Jem," Louis said. "Jem, this is Uncle Harry."

"Hello," Harry said, coming closer. "Hi, I'm Harry. It's nice to finally meet you." He bent down. He proffered a hand.

"Unca Harry," Jem agreed, shaking his hand, too. Harry looked up at Louis, and there was something in his eyes, except Louis had been trying so long to forget this language.

"Oh, precious," George said, looking positively joyful. "Well. Let's get started then, shall we?"

Harry ended up babysitting Jem in the corner as he explored the room, toddling over to the wide-open windows with the view of spread-out LA. Louis, watching from the corner of his eye as he and George talked legalities, caught Harry watching his son with something like wonder.

 _Longing,_ perhaps, but Louis had tried so hard to forget how to read him.

***

Louis couldn't go back to sleep; in the end he got out of bed and yawned and scrubbed his hand over his face. If he brushed extra hard, well, that was for extra minty breath, and so was the fringe check he attempted in the mirror. It wasn't _his_ fault Harry had decided to show up in the god awful hours of the morning and surprise Louis when he still looked and felt like a sleep zombie. He didn't _always_ look like that. Harry might have a tan straight from hiking in the wilderness and bright eyes and a dimple he hadn't outgrown, but he didn't have to _win._

Louis smelled pancakes and saw Jem balanced on a stool at the counter, drizzling maple syrup onto a stack of freshly-made ones. Harry was at the stove, telling Jem about flatbread, about roti. Louis stood in the hallway for a moment, trying to ignore the way his heart clenched. This was the life he'd envisioned for himself, almost a decade ago. This was the life two boys had made a mess of, and Louis wished he could blame them more, but they'd been trying the best they could.

"Dad!" Jem said, having spotted him. "Pancakes!"

"I can see that," Louis agreed, walking in and taking one. "How're Harry's?"

"Better than yours," Jem said. "Yours have burnt parts."

"They're the best parts," Louis informed him, indignant.

"Okay, Dad," Jem said placatingly. Harry laughed.

"These are okay, too," Louis admitted grudgingly. 

"Thanks," Harry deadpanned.

It was too close to home, was the thing, sitting in companionable silence, munching on breakfast. From the ipod dock floated the strains of a boppy tune; Harry'd never liked to cook in silence. He'd drawn up a chair, was amusing Jem with faces drawn on his pancake with syrup.

Too close to the home he'd thought he'd have, almost a decade ago. Harry met his eyes and Louis knew he was thinking it, too.

It was both a relief and not when Liam came into the kitchen, wiping blearily at his eyes; "I thought I smelled breakfast," he said, and came over and hugged Harry with one arm, swiping a pancake with the other.

And so the day proceeded.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! ok listen i know i've been shitty with updating and i apologise!... but at least i know exactly where this story is going! accept my apology and peace offering here is chapter 5

"So what's on the agenda?" Louis asked, once Niall had arrived and smoshed a hi-and-welcome kiss on Harry's cheek. Zayn was sitting at the counter, still zombified and nursing a mug of coffee in his hands while Liam periodically tried to feed him bits of pancake, which he ignored. It could've been any other day on the tour bus, or at a hotel breakfast buffet. It was so, strangely easy to fall into patterns you'd left behind more than half a decade ago, albeit with a kid by your side, quietly eating and watching everyone.

"Dancing lessons," Niall announced.

"Dancing lessons? We can waltz perfectly well," Liam said.

"No," Niall said, and now his eyes took on a manic glint Louis recognised from the few times he'd planned a prank with him. Few because when Niall actually got into planning, it was vaguely terrifying. "Dancing."

"What do you mean by this, Niall," Zayn enquired, this fear of the vaguely terrifying having seemed to finally pull him out of the final vestiges of sleep. "Explain."

"Zayn! You're up," Harry said. "Have you noticed I'm here yet?"

"I noticed you woke me up at ass o'clock in the morning," Zayn said, but let Harry pull him into a hug from the back, patting Harry's hand. "Niall?"

"So it's a surprise for Reina," Niall said, and then very quickly, "We're doing a proper boyband dance routine at the wedding. Synchronized and everything. Matching outfits, too. So let's clear up breakfast," he continued, valiant about it, "and head out! We want to be at the studio on time!"

In the ensuing silence, Louis drizzled maple syrup onto the pancake Jem held out. "Terrifying," he observed.

 

Louis had no real problem with making a fool of himself in front of an assembled crowd, or dancing like a fool in front of an assembled crowd in particular, so he didn't join Zayn's efforts to talk Niall out of it as they made their way into the city, Jem staying back with Niall's younger cousins and nephews and nieces. 

"It's already been booked, Zayn," Niall said chirpily.

"Unbook it, Niall," Zayn ordered.

"It's a special surprise for Reina, Zayn."

"A marching band would work just as well, Niall."

Louis had called shotgun, so Liam and Harry were directly behind him, arguing about a particular night of Harry's trip to Indonesia. 

"That was so dangerous."

"I didn't know until after!" Harry said.

"You should've known! You should've done your research!"

"You do dangerous stuff too."

"Yeah, but in my reckless phase, and even then, I knew the risks beforehand," Liam said. Louis reflected, not for the first time, that Liam would've made a much better impromptu father than he had.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, rolling his eyes, and as if he had read Louis' mind, "dad."

Liam looked offended. "Louis!" he said for support. "Tell Harry he should've checked out that street first."

Louis said: "Harry does what he wants."

He didn't have to turn around to sense the thread of hurt from Harry. He said, instead: "Zayn, if Niall's going to make us do this, I feel like you have the right to ask him for something in return."

Zayn made a pleased, considering noise at this, and stopped badgering Niall. Niall looked both grateful at this, and also slightly anxious at what Zayn was now planning. They reached the studio in relative silence with the Kinks still playing; Niall left the engine running and they all stayed until the song finished, as usual. Unspoken tradition, so easy to fall back to.

 

"Boys!" Resh said, spreading his arms wide. He'd dyed his hair blonde; he was wearing dark blue eyeshadow. 

"He couldn't find anyone else?" Louis snarked, and grinned at Resh's stuck-out tongue, let himself be pulled into a neck-squeezer of a hug. He embraced them all in turn, exclaiming observations over them excitably in Hindi.

"Will you boys listen to me today, since you're all mature, responsible adults now?" he asked plaintively.

They exchanged grinning looks, seventeen eighteen nineteen all over again. "We'll try," Liam said, and Resh groaned. 

It was fun in a way it had been lame at nineteen; learning the moves, repeating them exaggeratedly to show Resh that they had it down pat, irretrievably messing them up in the end sequence. What nineteen year old Louis would've rolled his eyes at he just found hilarious, and he found a lot of things hilarious: the hip rolling, the same part of a beat over and over again, the laughing What are you doing, Zayns, because choreographed routine would always be a nightmare for him. It was good, it was fun. He appreciated it now. He'd learnt how to.

They paused for a break, and Louis was gifted with an armful of sweaty Liam, who was sweaty because he always tried the hardest, still. Louis made customary disgusted noises and demanded Liam clean him off. Liam went obediently to get a cloth, and Louis wandered over to the refreshments table, where he realised too late Resh and Harry were catching up.

"Did you go to Jodhpur?" he was enquiring. 

"Oh, I didn't get..." Harry was saying, and something Louis didn't quite catch.

"It's beautiful. And hot and dry. And beautiful," Resh said, a note of longing in his voice. Louis resolved to book him an all-expenses-paid trip as soon as possible. 

"Are you free in November?" Harry asked. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Oh, babe. It's all good. I go back often enough. I just miss it always. You know how someplace is just home? I just feel torn, sometimes, because I've got two, and they're continents apart. You know?"

"Cheshire is home," Harry said.

"Home home?" Resh asked. 

"Not all of us are as lucky," Harry said, and it sounded like he was talking mostly to himself.

"You keep looking," Resh told him, and then something else, murmured. Harry nodded. They still hadn't noticed Louis.

"Towel," Liam said, flicking Louis with it from the back. 

Of course then it was all-out war.

*** 

"You look extremely handsome," Harry told him.

Louis turned. "Oh, hello. I almost forgot what you looked like, I haven't seen you in so long," he said. "Are you finished with your duties?"

Harry had been making the rounds all night as best man and best son: kissing relatives on the cheek, showing people to their places, the multiple pictures, the speech, saving Gem from elderly when-will-it-be-your-turn aunts. Louis had been watching him all night from the corner of his eye, even as he laughed with Liam and danced with other guests and acted like he had no idea where Harry was when Niall asked. Harry'd never left his field of vision completely.

"Pretty much," Harry said. "And now I'm really hungry. But all the food's finished."

"Sad, isn't it," Louis symphatized. He watched Harry look longingly at the mostly cleared tables, the guests milling around, laughing, dancing, slightly tipsy in that end-of-wedding mood. "If only some kind soul had thought about saving you a plate."

He watched Harry perk up considerably. "Really?"

"And some cake," Louis confirmed.

"You're actually brilliant," Harry said wondrously.

Louis cleared his throat, because he'd probably never get used to Harry saying things like that to him in that horrifyingly sincere voice, eyes bright and dimple firmly in place. "Well. C'mon, then. 'fore it gets cold and ick."

"Okay," Harry agreed. But instead of walking to their table he extended a hand. Louis took it confusedly. "Before the music ends, though..."

Louis looked around. The restaurant had cleared out, mostly, only family and close, close friends remained, most of them who knew anyway. It was fine. And still. And still.

"It's fine," Harry murmured. "Let me have this dance."

Louis let Harry pull him close, place a warm palm on his back. He let himself sway to the drowsy, dripping melody. It was fine, it was enough. 

Later on, much, much later, he will wish that he'd wrapped Harry in, wish fervently that he'd dropped his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes and breathed him in instead of darting glances around every few seconds. He is going to wish that he'd danced with Harry instead of just letting him have the dance. Because it was not fine, and it certainly was not enough.

But how was he to have known? He'd been doing the best he could.

***

On the trip back, Louis was driving. Niall and Liam were sleeping, heads turned to each other in the back seat; Zayn was staring out the window with his earphones in in the passenger's, presumably to get the music of the choreographed routine out of his head. His eyelids were drooping, too.

Harry was staring out of his own window behind Louis, looking out the window as well. Louis watched him for a while in the rearview mirror, then trained his eyes on the road. He'd turned the music down low when he'd seen Liam and Niall asleep. It was very quiet in the car.

"You know," Harry said suddenly, his voice low, raspy. Louis startled. "You know - none of it was what I wanted. At all."

Louis said: "it's fine. You don't have to-"

"If you thought what happened to us was anything I wanted," Harry said, "I guess you knew me less than I thought you did."

He said, "What I did in the end, I needed to do."

He said, "It was the last thing I wanted."

Louis couldn't think of a reply. They drove home in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since jem is freddie now. shall we go the whole 'names have been changed to protect privacy' route? just for that dash of realism? no? no.

“Who wants to help with dinner?” Reina asked the living room at large.

Liam raised a hand, as did a boy with her upturned nose and two girls Louis believed to be a twin set of Niall’s cousins. Relatives had been pouring in and out of the house since he’d arrived, most of them not staying, just checking in to say hi, offer their congratulations and help, and mostly eat a whole lot of Niall’s family’s food, from what Louis had observed.

Niall was enjoying a nap in his room. Louis had absently been scrolling down emails about next week’s meetings, Jem reading a book on his iPad beside him. “D’you wanna go help Reina?” Louis asked. “I’ll go stretch my legs a bit and see if I’m of any use in there.”

“I’m almost finished, Dad,” Jem said absently, eyes fixed on the screen. “Boris just turned up out of nowhere.”

Louis certainly had no idea what that meant, so he ruffled Jem’s hair and walked over to the kitchen. It was a humid, cheerful mess of Liam holding a potato peeler, Reina peering into a steaming pot, and the two girls and boy chopping onions, while The Jungle Giants sang from somebody’s blue iPod on the counter: _she’s well known to the police ‘cause she looks like a riot-_

“Louis!” Reina called. “You could help Liam with the potatoes, if you wanted...”

He smiled at her and went over to where Liam was trying to dig their eyes out. “I’m sure it doesn’t have to be that precise, Leeyum,” he said. “Aren’t they all set to be mashed anyway?”

Liam leveled a look at him, one that Louis knew intimately. “I like to be sure I do my job well,” he said haughtily.

“Bet I can peel three of them faster than you. Go,” Louis replied, and Liam had never in his life backed out of a challenge, and when Louis won that one he called for a rematch, so in the end they presented Reina with eleven works of potato art.

“This is three more than I need, but thank you,” she said, trying to balance them in her cupped palms. “And now we’re almost all done, I think, so shoo before one of you slices their finger off.”

They wandered out, still grinning.

Liam said: “Hey. I was wondering whether you’d be around in about November?”

“Oh, well, Jem’s started kindergarten,” Louis said, “which means I can’t just ship him off to Donny and fly off to LA any time I want anymore, so odds are I’ll be mostly London-based, which means just hit me up a week or so before you come, yeah? We’ll be there.”

The living room was now empty, so they headed for the back. “You’re a really good dad, Louis,” Liam told him. “Have I told you this before? I should have.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Louis huffed.

“I don’t think I ever doubted you, but I didn’t know how much you’d give up so Jem could have the life he has, and I didn’t foresee how devoted you’d be.” Liam looked out over the back yard. Zayn was kicking a football over to Jem, a few other Niall-looking kids with blonde hair as other players. Harry was goalkeeper. “You’re a really, really good dad.”

“I didn’t give a lot of things up,” was the first thing that Louis said, a bit mindless, to play off the fact that he was genuinely touched by this. “I mean - I know it looks like I did. How I sold off the house and how I’m not really in contact with many people from the old days and how I’m not going to fly to America every other week anymore and how I have my distinct lack of a social life is a presence in itself. Now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say,” and Liam chuckled a bit. Louis looked at Jem peering over at the nearest Niall-lookalike and completing a pretty neat pass. He grinned at Louis; Louis flashed him a thumbs up. “I didn’t give anything up, Li. I mean - I got Jem in return. It feels like a pretty evened out bargain.”

“It’s things like that, see,” Liam said, after a pause, “which weird me out, because I’m still so unused to you sounding so like, wise and shit.”

Louis elbowed him slightly. In the yard, Harry tried and utterly failed to save a goal from one of Reina’s teenage cousins. It literally slipped in between his legs. He facepalmed, ran a hand through his hair, accepted the laughter of the other players with a bow. Liam, watching beside Louis, looked between him and the spectacle, then back at him again. He had something on the tip of his tongue, Louis could feel it, but thankfully decided against saying it. 

It wasn't as if Louis didn't know, anyway.

***

“Welcome to the crib,” Louis said, a but too loud and too high because that was how he compensated when he was feeling nervous. Not that there was any real reason to feel nervous; it was just Liam.

Except he hadn’t seen him in months, and he’d never seen him in this circumstances. Tired, new house not fully furnished, old vomit stain on his shorts. Tensely keeping an ear out because Jem was having trouble conforming to a proper sleep schedule and was dragging Louis on his adventures in establishing one.

“Very nice,” Liam complimented, and ooh and aahed over the various corners of the house as Louis gave him the tour. “Can I see Jem?” he asked, eventually.

“ _No_! No,” Louis said, in a lower, more normally pitched voice, when Liam looked taken aback. “Oh, god, Liam, he’s only just gotten to sleep, you won’t believe the week it’s been...”

They ended up in the living room, stockinged feet up on the coffee table, sharing the bottle of wine Liam had brought.

“Mum’s been great, though,” Louis said. “And the girls, Fiz comes up every so often and fusses over me, she’s a mini Mum I swear.”

“Have the rest come over?”

“Niall stopped by for literally a second before he flew to Ireland, Zayn’s only back on the 23rd,” Louis said.

Liam opened his mouth, then closed it. Then shook his head at himself, took a swig of wine, and told Louis: “Harry wants to come, you know.”

“I think,” Louis said, “right now, I’ve got enough on my plate. Harry wants a lot of things.”

***

Dinner was a loud, hectic affair. The two big bowls of mashed potatoes went down like a storm, everybody’s voices rose over each other and fell, there was a slight incident when one of Niall’s baby cousins splattered a spoonful of his dinner onto his eye. There were too many people for washing up and the kitchen was getting cluttered, so Louis went out to the front for some fresh air and almost tripped over someone on the steps.

“Oops, I-”

“It’s fine,” Harry said quickly. “I shouldn’t be in the middle of the steps like this anyway.”

For a moment, Louis debated silently with himself over going back in. Then he sighed, let go of the door, and nudged Harry with a leg. “Move over, then.”

Harry scooted.

Harry didn’t smell like he used to; it was a lighter, almost jasmine smell now, rather than the expensive cologne he’d started buying with his first paycheck. Privately, Louis felt like the flowery scent suited him better. The cologne had always felt like something Harry’d felt like he was expected to do. One of the many things.

“I didn’t mean what I said to come out like that,” Louis said abruptly. “Of course I know - of course I know it wasn’t what you wanted, and none of it was your fault. And sometimes I act like I was the only one who went through all of that shit. I forget that you-”

“It was probably the worst period of my life,” Harry said. Louis nodded slightly. This, at least, they could both agree on.

“And I’m still bitter about it,” Louis said. “And there are still some things we never got to hash out properly, so I will still sound bitter towards you, when I forget. But I know that you did what you had to. For you, and me, and us. I wanted you to know I’ve never begrudged you that, for what it’s worth, so ignore me when the bitterness slips out in your direction. That’s all.”

Harry tiled his head up towards the stars. “We could try to be friends again, perhaps.”

“I thought that was what we’ve been doing.”

Harry slanted a look at him. He didn’t have to say anything.

“We could try to be friends again,” Louis conceded. A small sapling of relief had planted itself firmly in his lungs. It was much easier to breathe now than it had been five minutes ago.

“We’ve been like. The placebo version of friends,” said Harry, slowly. “And I think that’s because we just decided that we had to be, after. We never really. Talked it out.”

There was a flashing light in the sky. Either satellite or spaceship. “Do you think-”

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry said. “A bit. To clear up the leftover bitterness. And then we can start again.”

“We don’t have to do it tonight, though,” Louis suggested. Not tonight. Tonight could be left on a nice note.

Harry’s shoulder brushed his as he shifted. “Those the aliens coming for us?” he asked, pointing up at the rapidly blinking point of light.

“You don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Louis told him. “I forgot all about your extraterrestrial kink.”

“Louis! It’s not a kink,” Harry said, shaking his head and grinning up into the sky. “I just think they’re fascinating and coming for us sooner than we think.”

“I saw that tab, Styles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you thought!


	7. Chapter 7

Louis woke up to Jem shaking him awake for the second morning in a row.

"Dad. Daaad. Dad, come on. I know you're awake."

"Everyone's here," Louis mumbled, head still under his pillow. "I know you don't have anybody new for me to meet."

"It's football day!" Jem said. "You, you promised I could play with everyone like you used to in the old days. Every time you reminisce you say how fun it was. Dad you said we could last night remember and everybody agreed."

"Spell reminisce for me," Louis said. "And then we'll talk."

"R E M I N I S C E," Jem said.

Louis peered out from under his pillow. "I was expecting at least five more minutes while you looked it up on the iPad," he said. "Stop being such a literate five year old."

"Are you up?" Jem enquired, ignoring this.

"I'm up," Louis sighed, pushing back his hair with one hand, pulling Jem down for a kiss with the other. "Why are we even up so early?"

"It's going to rain later. Uncle Liam says so."

"Ugh," Louis said. "Liam and his goddamn sensible. I bet he's already up, isn't he?"

"Swear jar, Dad," Jem said, and squirmed to get out of Louis' grip. "Also, everyone's up. Even Uncle Zayn."

"Well, that's slightly embarrassing, innit," Louis said, sitting up in bed. 

"Just a bit," Jem said. "But I saved you some rashes of bacon so you'll feel better."

Everybody was in the kitchen and kitted out in football wear when Louis finally made his way down. "Uh," he said. "Did I miss the memo? Jem, where'd you get those?"

"Seamus," Jem said - one of Niall or Reina's little cousins, Louis supposed. He was decked out in the official jersey and shorts of the national team. Zayn was in a black Adidas ensemble Louis had seen Niall in before, and Niall was in a Man U jersey.

"This is Reina's," Harry said happily, gesturing at the bright floral print of his shorts. "They fit!" He was in a tracktop that didn't exactly match, but was pretty and flowery as well as bright orange; Louis assumed it was his. 

"Of course they do," Louis said, shaking his head. "Liam, you've got no excuse."

"I knew this was coming," Liam said. "I planned ahead."

"You didn't even try to think up an excuse," Louis said disapprovingly. He firmly opened the back door in protest, expecting everyone to follow.

It was still nice to know everyone did.

"Teams!" called Niall. 

"Leader," Louis said instantly.

"Leader!" Liam said.

"So basically nothing's changed in an entire decade," Zayn remarked to Harry, who grinned.

"Leaders pick their teams," Niall announced.

"Jem!" Liam said. 

"You can't pick my son," Louis countered indignantly. Jem was already going over. "Jem!"

"Dad. Please." 

"Gotta be faster next time," Liam taunted. Louis was gonna kick his ass, really he was. 

"Niall."

"Zayn," Liam said.

"Fine. Harry, come on."

"I've become immune to the undercurrent of offense," Harry said to Jem. "Also, it's an upgrade from ref."

"Less complaining, more football," Louis said. "If you please. Huddle up. It's war now."

"It's always war with you," Harry mumbled.

"It's always smart remarks with you," Louis told him. "Niall, defense. Harry, do you remember the game we had with Michael and the lot?"

"Yeah."

"Don't attempt anything you attempted there," Louis said. Niall giggled. 

"Go team," Harry said drily, but his eyes were bright and amused.

Harry and Zayn were kind of evenly matched with how bad they were, actually, and soon gave up and hovered around the edges for the odd pass. Jem was nimble and quick, which had Niall breathless and laughing and swearing and apologising for it, and Louis was busy marking Liam.

"This isn't - football," Liam said, going down as Louis extremely accidentally tread on his toes and tackled him.

"American football!" Louis said cheerfully, getting him in a headlock. "You say potato. Niall, he's five. Please-"

"He's fast," Niall moaned. Jem wrested the ball from him, and Louis was torn between a groan and a _that's my son,_ and passed it to Zayn, who was talking to Harry about some cycling app, the last Louis had heard, and was saying, "Wait, wait, what's the-"

He kicked the ball triumphantly between the plastic bottles which made up goalposts. There was a few seconds' pause.

"That's the wrong goal, Zayn," Liam informed him, gaspily.

"Does that mean we win?" asked Niall.

"No it doesn't," Jem said indignantly.

"Sorry, Jem," Zayn said. "Fucking football." Jem giggled.

"Don't fucking swear, Zayn," Louis said. And then Liam managed to wriggle out from under him, and he yelled, "Zayn, Zayn, get him off!" 

 

Louis spent the afternoon with Niall's mum, talking about how fast kids grew. He'd always been good with mums, and now he had a kid himself they all stopped to chat with him at the supermarket and offer him advice and coo over Jem. Niall's mum was no exception. 

"I used to deny Niall his favourite tv show if he didn't eat his carrots," she reminisced fondly.

"Mum, please," Niall said.

"Jem doesn't get dessert if he doesn't eat his greens," Louis informed her.

"Dad, please," Jem said. He was on the carpet with Harry. Harry was showing him photos on his phone. They looked like they had been familiar with each other all their lives, Harry's curly head bent close to Jem's lighter one, Jem with his chin resting on his hands, listening attentively. Louis' chest ached, a bit, again.

Zayn, from the recliner, was watching him watch them. Louis met his gaze. Zayn quirked his mouth at him, all at once a question and a reassurance. Louis was not quite ready to talk yet. He turned his attention fully back to Niall's mom; she told him all about Greg once leaving Niall in a tree for about half a day, and Niall's hungry wailing finally alerting the rest of the family to his plight.

"Do you want more kids, hon?" she asked Louis.

Louis' gaze caught, again, on the heads bent together on the carpet.

"Someday," he said. "I guess? If the fates align, and all that."

 

The wedding was to be held at Niall's family home, but the rehearsal dinner was being held at a hotel. Niall and Reina had walked down the aisle and said their I do's, smiling at each other like they were the only ones who existed, looking for all the world like they were getting married right then and there. Louis had chanced a glance to his right; Greg was sobbing, tears running down his face. He'd caught Harry's eye; Harry's lips were pressed tightly together. Louis had had to look away quickly to keep a straight face.

Jem asked, "Why do weddings need a rehearsal?"

"So that people don't mess up in the actual one," Louis said, prodding him towards the dining hall. "And also so that the families get a chance to meet and get to know each other before the big day."

"Oh," Jem said. "Are we going to eat now?"

"Yep," Louis said. "On our way. Say, Jem."

"Yeah, Dad?"

"What were you and Harry looking at earlier?"

"Pictures of Japan," Jem said, sounding animated. "Dad, Dad, Dad. The cherry blossoms are so pretty. Dad! He went to Ryogoku - that's a famous hall place or something - and he watched sumo wrestling live. When are we going to Tokyo? I want to climb Mount Fuji."

"Ah," Louis said. "Well. Japan, huh. Perhaps-"

"That's your we-aren't-going face, Dad," Jem said. "I recognise it."

Louis looked down at him, and felt a rush of fondness. The nurse had said: _this is it._ She'd said, _this is your son._ Louis had been spending the last nine months preparing for the newness, the enormity of it, with voices in his ear telling him _you'll be responsible for a whole new person,_ all that fear and anxiety building up as he took the bundle into his arms and- 

And he had been so small. And he had waved an unhappy fist at being exchanged in this undignified manner. And Louis had spent so many, many months doubting himself, asking whether this had really been the right decision for everyone involved. And he had looked at his son, and he had whispered hello, and knew that he loved him. 

And he knew it would be fine.

It had been him and Jem for so long, in their little bubble that expanded sometimes to include family and close friends. Louis forgot sometimes that there had been a world beyond it, that there still existed one, wild and wide. But Jem was growing up so fast. It was probably time to remember.

He said, "I'll look it up, I promise." 

Jem peered up at him and squeezed Louis' hand; he seemed satisfied with whatever he'd seen there. Family and friends started milling into the hall and settling into their seats; Louis led Jem to the table next to Niall's family, the table reserved for them. He sat down next to Zayn, Liam on their other side. 

Harry, only on the other side of the table, felt too far away, somehow. He was wearing a dark blue shirt with what looked like fairy lights embroidered on it. He winked at Jem and smiled at Louis, tilted his head towards Greg, who was still discreetly dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.

Louis fought a grin. This was what he remembered best: exchanged smirks and eyebrows lifted, no words needed because you knew what the other was thinking. The dream team.

He'd remembered it worse than it had been, because it had been tainted, all the memories, tainted by the explosion at the end, destroying with it everything that mattered. He thought of Harry's shoulder brushing against his on the step last night. _And then we can start again._ It didn't have to be.

Reina's dad, a lovely older man who was as small and dark as Reina, except with a full shock of white hair, rose to say a few words, and as they all clapped the first dish was served. Salad, which Jem picked at, and Louis would have picked at, except he had to show an example now or else Jem would never eat his greens in a million years. Harry and Liam were eating it with relish, of course. Jem appeared fascinated by this. 

"Do you _really_ like lettuce?" he enquired of Harry.

"Jeremy," said Harry, grinning, "you are just like your father."

"Dad eats his lettuce," Jem said.

"He didn't use to," Liam said, like the tattletale he was.

"He made fun of me for it," Harry said, sighing.

Jem turned large, accusing eyes on Louis. 

"But I've since repented," Louis said firmly. "Since I found out all about how good lettuce is for me. And you both can just-" He waved a fork at them. "Stop trying to undo the good habits I've instilled in my son. Thank you very much. Eat, Jem, or you won't get chicken."

He ladled a slice of tomato onto Jem's plate. When he looked up again, Harry was considering him, but Louis knew that look: dark, lashes slightly lowered. He knew that look. 

Louis _had_ to look away.

 

They got home, everyone trooping into the house eagerly for hot chocolate and the latest TXF episode. Louis lingered, locking and checking the car door when there was no real need for it.

When he straightened, Harry was still there. Down the driveway, the lights on the house were on; laughter poured from it.

His white shirt rustled against Harry's blue one, the sound of starched fabric. It was loud in the lowered dusk of the evening. 

"What was that?" he asked abruptly.

Harry didn't have to ask what he was talking about.

"It's kind of hot to watch you be a good dad," he said.

Louis shook his head, attempting to shake away the thought. "You always had the weirdest kinks," he said, because he wouldn't - he couldn't. 

Harry shrugged. 

"If-," he said, instead. "I mean. After the wedding. I'm sticking around for a bit."

"Yeah?" Louis said. Louis asked.

"Could I come visit?" Harry said, quick but hesitant-sounding. 

"Harry," Louis said. "Yes, I never said you couldn't. Did you think - I would forbid you from seeing Jem, or-"

"I was always afraid," Harry confessed. "That you would ask me to go. Or - or."

This part was low and rapid, or the closest to rapid Harry Styles could get. "That I wouldn't be able to leave."

Louis took a breath. He wasn't sure who moved. Him. Harry. Both. Harry was very close, suddenly.

If Louis just-

_This was the part Louis tried to forget from that night, almost five years ago:_

_If Louis said yes, he'd probably never let_

He closed his eyes. He opened them again. Harry was looking - just looking at him. Waiting. Eyes clear. Eyes bright. A lock of hair curled towards his cheekbone. The same one Louis remembered tucking behind his ear. So many years ago. It did not feel like _years._

"I have to," he said, carefully. "Jem's probably looking for me."

Harry nodded.

Louis turned away. He'd stepped perhaps one, two paces. He turned back. 

"We'll talk," Louis promised. "Tomorrow. We talk first."

He wasn't quick enough, when walking away, to miss the slow spreading of a smile on Harry's face. He'd thought the sun had gone down.

***

This was the first kiss:

Louis being unable to sleep. The night being hot and humid in a way that pressed down upon your skin. Stifling. Stumbling out of his bunk, stumbling into the small area that made for the kitchen on their bus. Pouring himself a glass of water, the cool rush down his throat.

"Hey," Harry said, from the sofa.

Jumping about a foot in the air. "Fuck, you scared-"

"I couldn't sleep-"

"Me neither," Louis said.

Making his way in the dark to where Harry sat. Thighs pressed side by side, expanse of sticky skin. Harry smelling like Johnson's shampoo and clean sweat.

"It's so hot."

"Yeah, it's-"

"Thought I was gonna die onstage."

"You were jumping around like a maniac."

Unable to actually process what they were saying, nonsensical words traded back and forth. Humidity pressing down upon them, pressing them closer together; it felt like they had been hurtling towards this for so long, weeks and weeks and aeons, actually-

No real need to say anything, but Harry murmuring, "I really like you, Louis." The shine of his eyes, the only thing Louis was able to see. And then the first touch of his lips. And then the first press of his mouth.

Forget the weather.

This was heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS is what happens when you get lazy, and procrastinate, and then lose your outline, and give up entirely. thank you for whoever asked about this fic, weeks on: you're the reason it exists. 
> 
> i promise chapter 8 is underway!


	8. Chapter 8

And this was the last: 

Where the first had been the lovely insistent heat of summer, this was the slow unfolding of autumn's chill.

Where the first had been curious laps of tongue and excited scrapes of teeth, this was a slow meeting of mouths that had known each other for a long time - for too long.

Where the first had been gentle exploration, this was a quiet punishment.

Where the first had said Hello, this was an aching goodbye.

"I love you, Louis," Harry murmured against his jawline.

He didn't verbalise the second part: not enough to do this.

***

Or perhaps, the scab that Louis had chose not to pick at, the fact that he had not wanted to know: _too much._ Too much to do this. Thursday unfolded its arms for Louis, this time without Jem's insistent wake up call; Louis looked over and saw his son sleeping peaceful, open-mouthed, tired out from the night's marathoning of movies. He stretched out a hand to brush his hair off his forehead. 

The bed dipped beside Louis; the door opening was probably what had woken him. He smelt cinnamony cologne and a hint of stale cigarette smoke before Zayn put an arm around his waist and smushed his nose in between his shoulder blades. He patted at Jem's stomach.

"He's tired out," Louis said quietly. "He fell asleep during the third Thor."

"You're a good dad, Lou," Zayn told him, equally as low. From Zayn, it felt studied, weighted, sincere. Louis didn't dodge it with a superfluous _ask his therapist that in twenty years._ He let it settle, let it seep into his skin and reassure, just for the moment, that constant voice that whispered _you're fucking this precious child up (just like you do everything else)._

"I try," he admitted. It was all he could do. 

"You know we're going to talk about this," Zayn said.

Louis groaned quietly. Zayn nuzzled into the back of his head. "I missed you."

"You never come visit."

"I visit whenever I'm in town, and you know that," Zayn chided. "It's you who never come over."

"Yeah," Louis said, heaving a breath. "I'll try with that. I know I've been a recluse. Jem's been wanting to - I'll go out more."

"I'm not," Zayn said. "Telling. You do what you have to do. Although I agree with Jem on this. Do you want to talk about something else, though?"

Louis sighed. 

"Have you really not been in contact?" Zayn asked.

"No," Louis said. "Not since." His heart ached the old ache, as it probably always would when he thought about the End, that period of despair and confusion, the pain of having your heart ripped out at the seams, the only bright spot in it all Jem, the hurt settling into something manageable over the years, that hid in his chest and crept up to his throat only when he thought about it. He had not been able to heal this wound, but he had patched it up well enough. 

There would probably be no one else. He had accepted that.

"You still," Zayn said, and it wasn't a question.

"I don't know if it matters," Louis said, a sort of admission in itself.

Zayn said, carefully, "It might."

Louis didn't reply.

"He's been away for a long time," Zayn said, sounding like he was very deliberately choosing the words he spoke. "Maybe you both should. Try. Talking it out. At least. Giving it a go. A long time ago was a long time ago, and you were both young and it wasn't fair to either of you. So. I'm not telling. But you should try."

"There's no one else," Louis said, "probably."

He shut his eyes. He was past crying over it, but the realisation still felt like a bludgeon to his chest. The fingers that carded through his hair were exceedingly gentle. Louis was very glad for Zayn, who knew everything, including when not to say anything. He was glad that his past self, reckless and unhappy that he'd been with everything, hadn't wrecked _this_ into oblivion. 

"What's up with you, anyway?" he said, instead, voice carefully steady.

"Nothing much," Zayn said, his voice carefully casual. "Waliyha has a boyfriend. Mum says she's too young. Dad was crying about it. But she argued that I had my first girlfriend at her age, and to not be so misogynistic, and at least this way she can bring him home and they can look him over, and that's how she's seeing Fred now." He sounded quite proud of this display of teen rebellion. 

"I always liked Waliyha," Louis agreed.

"You're going to be tearing up worse than my dad when Jem starts dating," Zayn predicted.

"Shut up, he's never going to start dating," Louis said, flicking at him and accidentally dislodging Jem, who blinked blearily awake and said, "Uncle Zayn?"

"Hey, kiddo," Zayn said, ruffling his hair. "Just having a bit of a cuddle. Did you know that when we were on tour your dad used to climb into my exceedingly small bunk and drape himself all over me? Like an octopus."

"He does it to me, too," Jem agreed.

"It's terrible," Zayn said. "I almost suffocated each time. He's not good at sleeping alone." 

Louis had had to learn. He still wasn't. 

"It's alright," Jem said indulgently. "I'm used to it."

"You're a good man, Jeremy," Zayn told him. He was still all warmth, radiating all along Louis' back. After things had started to fall apart, Louis climbed into his bunk more, and his hotel room, too. Zayn had never kicked him out, however much he treasured his sleep. There was a reason his leaving had felt so much like a betrayal to Louis. But he was here now, and he was holding on.

 

"Hey," Reina said, walking past the doorway, her arms overflowing with blue ribbons. "Where's everyone?" 

"Picking your cousin up, from what I gathered," Louis responded. "And your mum took the kids to McDonalds. Reina?"

She walked into the room. "Yeah?"

"Can I help?" Louis asked.

"Sure, Louis," she said. She dumped them all on the carpet. "I was going to do this in the bedroom, but it'd be nice to have company. I thought everyone was out." She sank down, cross-legged. Her quick, dark fingers began untangling the lump of fabric.

"I volunteered to help mind the fort," Louis said. "I may be getting old, 'cos I may have also had a fifteen minute nap."

"Oh, don't, I'm salivating at the thought."

Louis sat down opposite her and started helping.

"So, hen night," Louis said, "anything fancy planned?"

"Hopefully a good night's sleep," she said, and Louis laughed.

"Tell me how you and Niall met?" he requested. "I haven't had the chance to talk to him about it yet, proper."

"Oh, it's all in the tabloids, isn't it," Reina said, shaking her head. "The whole story."

"You and I both know," Louis said. "That what's in the tabloids is what every second cousin we've ever had's version of events."

She laughed. "How you guys live like this, I'll never know. Do you ever get used to it?"

"Not really," Louis said. "I liked to pretend it was happening to someone else. And, you know, lately, I've hardly been in the headlines."

Reina nodded. She looked down at her ribbons, unseeing. "We met when my dad was playing a round at the club," she said. "I was tagging along. I hate golf. Can't stand it. Fifteen years of dutifully following my dad around and I can't even tell you how to count the score. And, you know, he was just there, back home for the weekend. I didn't think much of him at first."

"Good," Louis agreed.

She had a small smile on her face. "Golf's no more interesting to me," she said. "But he's there. It's like, all of this," she waved the tangle she was currently working through about, indicating _everything_ , and Louis understood, "bearable, you know? Not the best. But bearable. As long as he's there."

"Yeah," Louis said, quiet about it. "I know." He said, sincerely, "That's good. That's great."

"Is that a blessing?" Reina asked.

"You never needed my blessing," Louis said, surprised. "I meant it, as long as Niall wasn't getting yanked around."

"Of course I needed your blessing," she disagreed. "You're his brother."

Louis looked at her. "If he even thinks about yanking you around, then you come to me," he told her. She smelled of lemon; something fresh and citrusy, at least. "But I've never seen him like this over anyone before. I promise."

"That's good, Louis," she said, smiling. She had a very nice smile. It had Niall's kindness, a hint of mischief Louis recognised as kindred. She was going to be fine. The most vicious tabloids would not faze this woman. "That's great."

 

"Jem!" Louis hollered. "Son o' mine!"

 _"Yes,_ dad," Jem said. He skidded around the corner, looking vaguely alarmed. Louis ruffled his hair, twirled the keys to Niall's Buick.

"Shall we go on a drive?"

"Is that all?" Jem asked. "I thought something was _wrong._ You didn't have to shriek."

"Shriek, that's got a nice-sounding ring to it," Louis said cheerfully.

"I think so too," Jem agreed. He let Louis help with his jacket, but insisted on doing the buttons himself. He clambered into the car and furrowed his brow at Louis' iPhone for a bit before picking FKA twigs. He had not inherited Louis' taste in music at all.

"This place is so pretty," Jem said, staring out the windows at the lush ever-changing greens rolling by.

"Prettier than home?"

"I don't think anyplace is half as nice as home, but it's pretty."

"I'm about to show you some misshapen stones in a lovely meadow," Louis told him. "And that's not really my thing, but I think you'll appreciate it. Niall brought us here ages ago."

He pulled up and let Jem gasp over the weathered boulders, the same marvel on his face as Harry, all those years ago. They had been here forever, the middle of the field, for as long as the people around here could remember. "Do you think they're older than God?"

Louis smiled. "They're really, really old, I can tell you that. Now come have a sandwich."

They ate their egg sandwiches in companionable silence, leaning against the Buick and looking to the spread-out expanse of the meadow.

"You can just say it, Dad," Jem said, suddenly.

"Hmm?" 

"You've got your I've-got-something-important-to-tell-you-face on."

"You," Louis said, shaking his sandwich at him, "never stop surprising me. Alright, then. Here goes. I'm saying it."

The problem was he didn't know _how_ to; he couldn't remember Mum ever giving him this talk, certainly he'd always been too young or old enough to understand - but he felt - he knew he owed it to Jem. It had been just the both of them for so long.

Jem scuffed his shoes against the grass. "You aren't going to tell me you're not my real dad, are you?"

"No," Louis said, surprised. "Oh, Jem. Have you been reading those insane sites again? No, God. You remember what I said about it, don't you?"

Jem shrugged. "You looked so - confli- conflicted."

Louis kneeled, then, uncaring of the still-damp ground. He placed both hands on Jem's small shoulders. His son had his Mum's smile, and Briana in the way he laughed, but his eyes - his eyes were blue and serious and Louis' own.

"I just wanted to know," he said, "if it would be alright with you, if I began seeing someone. And I wouldn't do it if you weren't comfortable, or if you didn't like the person. I was just - thinking about it, and, but, you're still so young, and it would be _fine_ -"

"Dad," Jem interrupted. "Stop rambling."

Louis stopped rambling.

"It would be fine," Jem said. "Like, I've been a bit worried about you."

Louis stared at him.

"I didn't want you to be, like, lonely because of me!" 

"It wasn't _that_ ," Louis said helplessly.

"No, I know," Jem said, easily. "But it would be fine. Dad. Don't worry." He kissed Louis on the cheek, like he was the parent reassuring the child. Louis had no idea how he had been blessed with this extraordinarily magnificent boy. "By the way - is it Harry?"

"Jem," Louis said, "how-"

"I read the insane sites," Jem said, "all the way back to when they weren't quite that insane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next is chapter The Penultimate! it's either gonna be here by tmr or in two weeks exactly. tell me what u think of the fic so far and im on tumblr at snsknene if u wanna shout @ me for the ridiculous wait.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right so again i'm sorry about the wait... i promise i had my reasons

"You know what I think," Louis said. "I think we're getting old."

"Take it back, Tomlinson," Zayn called, from the other end of the bar. "Take it back immediately."

"I think this is sensible," Liam said approvingly. "No sense getting too sloshed if you're going to leave stag night to the night before the big day."

Louis tilted his head at Liam very slowly and purposefully, raising his eyebrows at Zayn. Beside him, a long press of warmth and rose-scent and terrible zigzaggy shirt, Harry suppressed a giggle. He'd sat himself next to Louis when the night started, and he hadn't left.

The night hadn't been very long, anyway. It had started with a nice dinner with Niall's school friends and golf friends and music friends, and now it was a smaller crowd, just closer friends in a bar having drinks and reminiscing, and since when had they become elderly enough to yawn comfortably and check the time and shake their heads and reminisce, anyway?

He had repeated this out loud to Harry and Liam, and added: "You know what I think? I think we're getting old."

Now Niall draped his arms around Harry and Liam's necks, squeezing until they batted at him. He wasn't drunk, but loose and red-faced, and he said: "Who's missing? Zayn, Zayn. Zayn! Arse over here, please!"

Zayn disentangled himself from the group he was in and made his way over. He dug his chin into Louis' head. Niall said: "Good, finally." He appeared to be gathering his thoughts. Harry and Liam appeared to be in the process of being slowly strangled as he sorted them out.

"Tonight would be nice, Niall," Louis remarked, and Niall flipped him off.

"I just wanted to say," he announced, “that I love you lot very much, quite more than you deserve-”

“Boo!” someone yelled from a few booths away. Niall flipped them off as well: “-and,” he continued, “and! And.”

He smiled, quite suddenly; the difference between his previous expression and this brilliant grin was startling. “And I’m getting _married_ tomorrow,” he said, and he looked very, very happy. “To the girl of my _dreams_. And I’m fucking stoked you guys are coming. Cheers.” He raised his glass, knocked it exuberantly against Liam’s. Amber liquid sloshed over the side and onto Liam’s trousers, but he laughed and shook his head and toasted Niall.

The bar erupted into shouts and catcalling and general cheering. Zayn said, “You’re all grown, you bastard,” and shook his head, and wrapped Niall into a hug. Louis rather suspected he was tearing up a bit.

“We’re all grown,” Liam said, and he definitely was tearing up. He wrapped his arms around them both. Louis looked at Harry.

Harry was looking at him, expression unreadable. Then he dimpled, sudden and quite blinding, and reached his arms out to embrace them, too. When Louis joined in, he managed to catch hold of two of Harry’s fingers. He held on.

They broke apart, everyone sniffling. Just a bit. Louis sighed. “We’re all such saps,” he said, and they all gave a bit of a watery chuckle. Zayn’s gaze was focused on something else, though, and Louis looked down to see what it was.

Harry’s fingers, still hooked into Louis’ coatsleeve. Louis looked up at him, and Harry sort of smiled, and jerked his head towards the back door.

“Okay,” Louis said. “Okay.”

Niall fistbumped his shoulder on the way out. Liam offered them both smiles. Zayn squeezed his wrist, quick and comforting.

***

Of all the memories Louis had tried to forget-

“Louis,” Harry said tiredly. “Louis. I love you so much. But-”

“Don’t,” Louis said. He hated the way his voice wavered. He hated the way it threatened to crack.

“Louis,” Harry said. There were dark, dark circles under his eyes. There had been many nights when Louis had tried to kiss them away.

Louis repeated, “Don’t.”

“We can’t live like this,” Harry said, “not now, not- this is killing us.” He sounded as though his heart was breaking.

Louis _knew_ his heart was breaking.

“I don’t like the people this is turning us into.” A lock of Harry’s hair was falling into his eye. He did not bother to push it away. Louis fought the urge to do it for him. Muscle memory.

And: “Maybe we can try again,” Harry said. And although his voice sounded awful, it was steady, and this was how Louis knew he could not change his mind. “When we’re- when we’ve grown a bit. Maybe we can-”

“No,” Louis said. “No. If you leave, Harry- if you leave. Don’t ever come back. We’re over. We’re done. For good.”

It was a terrible- it was a last ditch attempt. To keep him here.

It did not work. When Harry left, his shoulders hunched together, which meant he’d started crying as soon as he’d turned to leave. But he did not turn back.

-this was on the top of the list.

***

Harry started the car. His fingers wrapped surely around the gear stick; Louis wondered, absently, how many people those fingers had touched, in the years since. It was a thought that could not help but ache, somewhere low in his chest.

They drove in silence. And drove some more. The golden streetlights illuminated the sleek wetness of the road. The windows were down; the rush of wind made Louis’ hair a mess. A winding, aching song crept out of the radio and wound its verses around their fingers. They drove. They were there, in that encapsulated space, and they could have gone anywhere: Louis could have followed him anywhere, that little drive almost out of time and space. And then Harry confessed, “I don’t exactly know where we’re going.”

“If you’re trying to abduct me, I want you to know you’re doing a pretty bad job,” Louis said.

“You’re such a little shit,” Harry said, rather affectionately. He pulled up at an almost empty parking lot Louis sort of recognised. It was the pub again. Most of the cars had left; Louis couldn’t see Niall’s Benz anymore. Harry turned off the engine, and leaned back, and looked out the window.

It was a cool night. It had just rained. Louis pulled at the sleeves of his jacket, fisting at the material. He said, “What you said… we couldn’t be just friends, Harry. We could never be _just_ anything. It’s all or nothing, with us.” He felt the truth of it reverberate in his chest.

Harry turned towards him, wearing a faint smile. “Went right in, didn’t you?”

“You know me,” Louis shrugged, trying to act like his heart wasn’t going too many miles per hour. He was probably failing. It was Harry.

“Let’s try all again,” Harry said, too-loud, too-abrupt. He took Louis’ hand in both of his. “Louis, let’s try _all_.”

Louis didn’t shake his hand off, just looked at it thoughtfully, and said, “Jem’s first word was _snowman_.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, sort of helplessly.

“His favourite food is those fried fish fingers. Terribly unhealthy. I don’t blame him.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed.

“His middle name is Isaac. You- you remember Isaac? When we were-”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Isaac for a boy. Aisling for a girl.” His eyes were very bright, now.

Louis smiled, but kind of waveringly, because it was getting harder to speak. “You missed all that,” he told Harry. “You left. And I understand why you left, I understand why you had to, I get that we were becoming people we would hate and we had to cut our losses and quit if we could ever stand a chance of staying in each other’s lives, but. You still left, and you missed all that, and you broke my heart, Harry, you broke my heart. No, wait- just listen, alright, I won’t have you breaking my heart again, because this time you’ll break Jem’s, and that’s, I absolutely won’t allow that, that’s out of the question, understand?”

“I’ve been looking for-” Harry said, and stopped. “Nothing has-” There was a pause. He appeared to be struggling for the words.

Louis gave him time. The wind was sharp against his face; it made his eyes water. He allowed himself the luxury of imagining burying his face in Harry’s neck. He allowed himself the ache-comfort of that fantasy, the way he hadn’t in a long time.

Harry said: “Louis, you’re it. You’re it for me.”

Louis had always kind of known that. Sometimes it had just been a source of pain, the simple fact of it, given how impossible he’d thought it’d ever be again. Sometimes he had tried to forget. But here it was, made solid into cold reality of the night: there would be no one else except each other.

They could do with that what they would.

“We could try _all_ ,” Harry repeated. “We’re older, and we’re wiser, and I’ll do anything to make up for all those years, and I’d die before I hurt you or Jem. We could be good for each other, Louis, we could try _all_ , and it could be everything. Give me another- baby, don’t _cry_.”

Louis realised, much to his surprise, that his eyes felt damp, and his throat felt quite a bit choked, and Harry’s arms were reaching out, reaching out and stilling, like he still didn’t know if he was allowed.

There was a long, very stationary pause. And Harry said: “I’ve been looking for home for so long. It hasn’t been Cheshire for ages. I went all over the world-”

He gave a strangled attempt at a half-laugh. His eyes looked a bit wet, too. They shone, dark in streetlight, the moonlight. “Resh said, _it doesn’t have to be a place_ , but I already knew that.”

And he asked a question. Louis remembered being eighteen and wrapping his arms around his future, wrapped up in the solid shape of this extraordinary boy. He remembered twenty-one, spotlight just a bit too bright but the boy still by his side. He remembered a wedding, eyes darting nervously around but the boy’s cheek on his shoulder, relax, I love you. He remembered twenty-five, arms around his son and throat scratched out at 3 am, telling him about a boy he’d met in a bathroom. He remembered the defeated bow of Harry’s lips when he said goodbye. He remembered the look in his eyes every time he said hello. He remembered all this, and he gave his reply.

And then Harry had his arms around him and Louis had his face in his neck, and he was shaking, just a bit, just a bit, but this was sanctuary. This was warmth. This would be arms who would hold him until he stopped; these would be arms he would let hold him throughout. He was safe, now.

Harry had asked, “Louis, can I come home?” and Louis had said _yes._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is *yawns* 2.15 am. point out any mistakes for me please and i will correct them in the morning.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ERAJ, i started this for you a year ago and finally i have conquered it. only you could've brought me back to writing larry again. love you.

Once upon a time, there were two boys.

You know how this story goes. But here it is, for posterity’s sake.

And they were very much in love. But sometimes that was not enough. And sometimes the lights that were the world’s gaze on you were too bright, and sometimes the ink on those tabloids were poisonous, and sometimes there were too many people telling you this is not going to work, and every word was a blow against you, and you got a bit tired. You were young, and you got very tired.

Once upon a time, there were two boys, but they had their lives ahead of them, too, and what meant the end could sometimes just mean the end of something that had turned broken and toxic and brittle, and as much as it hurt, you needed to drain all of that away. You could not leave a wound festering.

Once upon a time there were two men, and time always healed. And now there was a new beginning. Now there was something cleaned, rainwashed and still-standing; something with a foundation that had held firm, something that could now be rebuilt.

The end.

***

“And you aren’t nervous?” Louis asked again.

“Are you trying to make me nervous?” Niall asked back, fastening his cuffs.

“Niall, you’re so boring,” Louis said, sighing. “What did I write a whole pre-wedding jitters speech for? And what are these handcuffs in case you try to escape through a window for?”

“Kinky,” Niall said. “Sorry to disappoint. Maybe you can use the handcuffs on Harry later.”

“Niall!” Harry said, going pink.

“Niall!” Louis said, in more considering tones.

“Oh, ew,” Liam said, long-sufferingly. “We haven’t even started drinking yet.”

“How do you all even know, anyway?” Louis demanded. “You fucking stalkers.”

“We are not,” Zayn remarked, “complete idiots.” But he leaned into Louis’ shoulder with his own, and smiled, and Louis realised that there really was no way to deny the fact that Harry’d had a dopey grin on his face all morning, and kept looking over at Louis, like a thirteen-year-old with a crush, and looking away with some secret joy that lit all of him up from within. And Louis suspected he wasn’t much better himself.

He was about to retort something like _Could’ve fooled me_ , because he couldn’t go complete sap, he had a reputation- or something, or a thing that meant something when Harry didn’t dimple besottedly at him like that, all open happiness because now he was allowed.

The processional music began outside. Niall let out a small squeak, and almost jumped. Zayn, peering focusedly at his quiff, had his hand knocked away and almost snapped at Niall before he remembered he was the groom and it was his job to support him each step of the way.

“Here, I’ll go over your hair,” he said helpfully, and picked up the hairspray and pushed Niall back into the chair. Niall submitted with a sigh, and Zayn soothingly sprayed up a storm around them.

“I told you you were nervous, though,” Louis said triumphantly.

“I’m getting married, you twat,” Niall said. “Of course I’m nervous.” He began coughing from speaking with the cloud of aerosol still intact about his airways, and then they all panicked that they’d managed to kill the groom right before the ceremony began, and then they all started laughing helplessly when the aerosol cleared and Niall had tears in his eyes and his hair almost ruined, because it was fine, of course it was fine, they had each other.

Then Niall’s mum and dad and Greg popped their heads through the door to check in before they walked the aisle, and Niall’s mum burst into tears and threw herself onto Niall, and Liam had to collect her and thrust her gently back into Mr Horan’s arms before she rumpled Niall’s tux completely. Then a different kind of music started, and they were being ushered away, and so were Liam and Zayn and Harry, Harry throwing a soft warm look back at Louis, as lingering as a kiss.

It was Louis and Niall left.

“Shit,” Niall declared, which summed it all perfectly. “Tommo, man. How did we get here?”

He gave a half-hysterical chuckle. Louis reached out and clasped his shoulders.

“Are you panicking?” he said. “It’s okay if you’re panicking, that’s completely normal, I’ll tie you to this chair until we-”

“Stop talking out of your ass, Tomlinson,” Niall ordered him, but he did look more fond and less wide-eyed, so Louis counted that a win. “You know what I mean. I swear we were eighteen a second ago, and now you’re my _best man_ , we’re here, and it’s-”

Louis realised what he meant: that this - more than anything else, more than headlines and awards and endless crowds, as overwhelming and thrilling and amazing as it all had been - this was making it. This meant _making it_.

As simple as a small ceremony with family, taking those few, easy steps down a stretch of white. As easy as looking over at the two people you loved most on the carpet, and realising, something settling warm and calming in your stomach, that they were getting along.

“Ready?” Louis said. “I’m proud of you,” he told him, and shifted forwards to embrace him. Niall’s arms went up, solid and familiar from thousands of shows, countless instances of easy, thoughtless comfort.

“I’m proud of us,” Niall informed him, a bit teary about it. They both were. The usher poked his head through the door, and this was it.

“C’mon, y’fucker, can’t be late for your own wedding,” Louis said, and wrapped an arm around his neck and tugged him towards the doors. They peeked through the gap; Zayn, Liam and most of the bridesmaids were standing in line already; as they watched, Harry kissed the last bridesmaid’s cheek, went to his spot, winked at someone small in the front row: Jem, Louis realised, watching the brown head bob cheerfully about.

Niall took a deep breath, and opened the heavy doors to meet the rest of his life.

 

“You look beautiful,” Louis said, pressing a kiss to Reina’s hair and poking at a dimple; she looked a bit startled and a lot happy, and she pulled him into a tight, suffocating hug.

“Where’s the rest?” she said, looking around the banquet hall. “I haven’t seen them since we came in- Niall, too.”

“Not to worry,” Louis assured her, patting her head again as he would one of his own sisters. “Which reminds me, I have an urgent- appointment-”

He left her looking both amused and slightly concerned, and went around the stage where Niall and the rest were huddled, Liam giving them last-minute instructions and Resh trying to get a word in between Liam’s last-minute instructions.

“Isn’t the whole point to make fools of ourselves, Li?” Louis asked, struggling out of his formal suit jacket and into the red blazer identical to ones the rest were already wearing. “Isn’t that the fun of it?”

“No,” Liam said severely, “the point is to perform a coordinated, typical boyband dance routine, ironic in the fact that we never agreed to it once in the six years we were actually a boyband. That’s the fun of it, Louis.”

“Yes, it does sound like a riot, now that you put it like that,” Louis agreed, exchanging a glance with Harry, who was patting Zayn consolingly on the shoulder as Resh assured none of his entire extended family were here, so they could not laugh at him as they had when he had attempted Bollywood routines as a child. Harry’s eyes were glints of amusement in the darkened area. Louis wanted to reach out and touch, and immediately tried to put the thought out of his head like he’d spent years doing, and then realised-

He did not have to. He could savour the thought, and act upon the impulse: he could reach out, tentative with the wonder of this born-again miracle, and touch.

Harry nudged into the palm on his cheek, like a kitten. He turned his head slightly so he his lips pressed Louis’ skin, and he nuzzled, just as he used to when he was a teenager, and Louis felt hopelessly fond and kind of aroused and rather in love. And then then a song started pounding, all well-known bass and beat, and Niall rubbed his hands together with glee, and Zayn assured Niall that he would collect this favour at first available possibility and Niall _would not like it,_ and Liam kind of slipped his hand through Zayn’s and laid his newly-shaven head on his shoulder and Zayn’s jittery knee kind of calmed down, tension leaving his posture visibly.

Some things didn’t change.

“C’mon,” Louis said, grinning, and offered his hand. Harry’s broad one covered it without hesitation, and everyone else joined in, and they whooped and bounded out to much cheering and Reina’s gasp, lilting into delighted laughter as they performed a perfectly choreographed Backstreet Point made popular in the iconic Larger Than Life video.

Jem looked torn between cheering wildly for Louis and covering his face at his dad’s cheesy Point’n’Pump. Louis scooped him up into his arms as the music finally transitioned into something softer and sweeter, and the room’s screaming and laughing approval of the timeless moves died away, and Niall proffered a gentlemanly hand to a still giggling Reina and asked her for a dance.

“Dad, you’re perspiring,” Jem said, but squealed with laughter anyway as Louis swung him into the air and said, “perspeerering? What’s that mean?”

“Perspiring, Dad,” Jem said patiently. “It means sweating.”

“So it does,” Louis agreed, kissing him on the nose. “Spare me a dance, will you, son o’ mine?”

They did a kind of waltz, and gave up on that on the next song and started dancing like they did at home, happy and ridiculous, music turned up high. His son, this bright wonderful intelligent kind thing, who he’d tried so hard not to fuck up and who, amazingly, incredibly, seemed like he would grow up - grow up okay, despite having _Louis_ as his main parental influence during his early development. They were breathless and grinning when George came to cut in.

“Uncle Orjy!” Jem exclaimed, because that was what he’d called George as a two year old and it had stuck.

“My favourite Tomlinson,” George said, and Jem stepped onto his shoes and George tried a fairly successful foxtrot-type thing. “Will you come visit me soon?”

“Next holidays,” Louis promised, because both pairs of eyes looked expectantly to him. Jem said, “Los _Angeles_ ,” all wide-eyed wonder, and George smiled at Louis, and trotted Jem away in a quick one-two step type thing.

“Hello,” a voice murmured, accompanied by a waft of jasmine, laundry-clean and sweet, and Louis realised George had discreetly whirled Jem away for a reason. “Let me have this dance?”

The music swirled about them, slow and golden.

_‘Cause there was a time when all I did was wish-_

“Suppose you might,” Louis agreed, and let himself be pulled in.

_-you'd tell me this was love_

“I’m going to dip you,” Harry told him, warm fingers on his back, and that was all the warning Louis got before they were all that was standing between him and a certain terribly embarrassing fall, and he lost his breath a bit, giggling sort of maniacally, but Harry swept him up again, Harry had him and he wouldn’t let him go.

_And now we’re standing face to face-_

But Harry was keeping his distance, too, a small and measured bit because while these were people they trusted, these were still _other people_ , and there were some behaviours you didn’t unlearn all that quickly. Like this, it was a distance you could still play off as a dance between two best mates who hadn’t seen each other in a while.

_-isn’t this world a crazy place?_

Louis said, “Harry,” and Harry’s gaze, already trained on him - always like he was the only person in the room, and that had never changed, Louis realised: through everything, Harry had always looked at him like that, like Louis was the only person he could see - focused, and grew enquiring.

_Sometimes the snow comes down in June-_

“Harry,” Louis said again, and made sure Harry was watching him close when he took his fingers, which had been light on Harry’s shoulder, away. Harry’s brow furrowed, a bit, momentarily; Louis wanted to kiss it until the crease faded. Later. Later, he promised, both to himself and this extraordinary, beautiful boy- no, he remembered. This. This was a man now. He’d done okay with him, too.

_-sometimes the sun goes round the moon_

Slowly, very slowly, Louis curled his arm around Harry’s neck, drawing Harry’s forehead towards his. Harry went, gaze steady and unwavering, even when they were so near it must have been hard for him to focus.

_Just when I thought our chance had passed-_

“This is the song,” Harry said, very quietly. A lovely, slow, winding melody, and Harry’s curls over his forehead.

“I remember,” Louis said. “I told you I’d memorise the lyrics.”

_-you go and save the best for last_

And he let himself finally, finally, tuck his face into the warm envelope of Harry’s neck, let himself breathe his weary, long-lost traveller in; he had travelled miles and miles, whole continents, Berlin, the Amazon, Indonesia, the world and back, and he had finally returned where he belonged-

-but it was Louis, really, who was coming home.

_You went and saved the best for last_

And Louis, gratefully, remembers it all.

 

**~end~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who has read this or kudosed or bookmarked, i needed all of that to finish this. you are all very nice and lovely people. i hope you liked it and you can catch me on snsknene.tumblr.com if you want to complain about general delay in completion, loose ends, or general over-emotionanals (i would). i will answer all comments soon, and thank you again <3


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